Stairway to Heaven
by WittyNinja
Summary: When Buffy is kidnapped by the Dark Lord himself, she finds herself pulled into a world she didn't know existed while fighting a destiny she never wanted.
1. Default Chapter

_She buys a ticket cause its cold where she comes from  
She climbs aboard because she's scared of getting older in the snow  
Love is a ghost train rumbling through the darkness  
Hold on to me darling,  
I've got nowhere else to go_

Ghost Train - Counting Crows

**Bergen, Norway**

**July 15, 2000**

**5:46 PM**

She tripped over a large root. Her hands came up automatically to break the fall, and with a jolt, she hit the ground. For a moment she lay stunned. Mud seeped into her clothes, rain soaked her already wet clothes, and her hair hung around her head in messy disarray, but for a brief moment she stayed very quiet. Her breath was coming out in short bursts, lungs rapidly trying to breath in much needed air. Her heart was pounding, her skin disturbingly pale.

But for just one moment, the world seemed still.

Maybe if she just stayed there…maybe if she lay very quiet, he wouldn't find her. She would lie on the hard ground, breathe very quietly, and all of this would go away. Then she would slowly rise, and find a phone, and call Giles and everything…everything would be alright. _She_ would be alright.

The air pulsed with magic, causing her Slayer senses to tingle with awareness. A shiver ran up her back, and she choked back a sob, forcing herself to her feet. Legs trembling in absolute protest, she pushed her broken body for everything it had, calling upon strength that shouldn't exist, and started running again. Branches and trees brushed against her arms, leaving scratches and cuts dotting her skin. She could feel blood running down her legs in tiny rivulets – hundreds of little tiny places, all of them throbbing like their own versions of Hell, but she ignored them and kept running, and she didn't look back, and she didn't dare think too much.

No…she mustn't think at all.

She stumbled again, and this time she felt something on her stomach give a very sharp tug of pain. Damn. She had pulled another stitch. She willed back the tears. Not yet. She could cry all she wanted when she got out of this, but _not yet._ There was no second chance for her. This was it.

He was chasing her. She could _feel_ it. She could feel it with every fiber of her being, and he was angry. God, he was so angry – seething.

A twig snapped somewhere behind her and her heart gave a jolt. _No, _**please**_ no._ Her legs picked up their unsteady pace. She no longer registered what direction she took. She just _ran_. Running became her life, her sole purpose. Running became everything that was ever important because _she must get away_. She couldn't stay in that place any longer…she _wouldn't_ stay in that place longer. She would rather die then stare into his eyes for one more second, then listen to his cruel laugh and cold voice, then feel his hand slide over her face – hard, cruel, and punishing.

There was a clearing, just ahead…a break in the trees. Salvation. _Freedom_. If she could just reach that area, everything would be okay. It was so close, so very close. And then she was there, standing at the edge and then plunging into its center, moving swiftly to the other side, and…freezing—

It was a cliff – a dead drop off. Two hundred feet below her, water hit the side of cliff, its waves churning and deadly. But this couldn't be. This couldn't _possibly_ be. She was stuck. She was trapped, and there was _no time_. She felt the tears prick her eyes, a lump forming in the back of her throat, a sob escaping past her trembling lips.

There was a loud pop behind her, but she didn't turn around.

"You're a clever girl, Elizabeth." He sounded gleeful and why shouldn't he be? He had won. She was stuck. She had had her chance to escape and she had failed. The Slayer had failed. Her feet felt leaden, her body lifeless, and her mind accepting. She glanced down at the rolling waves, seemingly hypnotized. Turning slowly, she met his eyes with a piercing calm and clarity. He was hideous…evil personified—his eyes sunken and dark, his hands large and thin, his body tall, but disgustingly skeletal. "I'm going to break you. I'm going to make you scream, and cry, and beg for death," his voice was low and dangerous, and her body shuddered, remembering the pain, remembering the taunts, remembering the promises.

She wouldn't let it happen again. Wetting her chapped lips, she shook her head slowly. "It's too late for that, Voldemort." For a moment, he looked puzzled, and the Slayer reveled in the small victory.

But then she was turning and running and nothing else mattered. The Dark Lord watched with growing anger as his latest protégé leapt into the air, plummeting from sight. He stood, shocked and tense, straining to hear the inevitable.

It never came.

There was no splash.

**Stairway to Heaven**

**By Wittyninja**

_And she's buying a stairway to heaven_

**Sunnydale, California**

**May 3, 2000**

**10:31 PM**

"It's not _a_ concert Giles, it's _the_ concert, the concert of a _lifetime_!" The sixteen year old waved her hands wildly in the air.

Rupert Giles massaged the bridge of his nose and warily met his Slayer's eyes—eyes that were currently focused solely on him, wide and innocent and pleading.

"Buffy, Pink Floyd is the concert of a lifetime. The Beatles are the concert of a lifetime. _Bob Dylan_ is the concert of a lifetime. I can assure you, Mighty Mouse is certainly not—

Buffy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, blonde hair drifting off her shoulders to rest against her back. "Yes, I'm sure Mighty Mouse lacks stunning musical talent, but _Modest_ Mouse certainly doesn't and to my generation this _is_ the concert of a lifetime, _my_ concert of a lifetime. C'mon! Weren't you one of those music-concert-marijuana smoking guys who—

"I did _not_ smoke—

"Fine! Magic dabbler or whatever. Either way…Giles, it's one concert! For one night! I'm not asking to take a vacation to the Bahamas. I just want to see a band play with my friends for _one night_." Her lower lip jutted out in a classic pout meant to break down his steely resolve. But Rupert Giles was immune to her ploys. He knew this girl and it was his duty to make sure she hunted the forces of darkness and saved the world from its utter and complete destruction.

The lip jutted out a little further and Giles sighed, removing his glasses quickly and avoiding eye contact.

"Giles! Oz has _backstage passes_. Do you realize what that _means_?"

He placed his glasses back on his nose. "I would imagine something about going backstage."

"I would get to meet the band!"

"That's not exactly guaranteed—

"Do you know what the lead singer looks like?" she squealed, reminding Giles that yes, she was only sixteen years old. He slowly removed his glasses again and took out his handkerchief, absentmindedly rubbing the glass.

"Buffy," Giles said seriously. "Patrol has been heavy lately. You know that." He watched as the girl's smile faded. "I can't have you running off to Los Angeles when things are this tense." He tried not to meet her eyes, not wanting to see the hurt. "I'm sorry, but you can't leave right now. Sunnydale needs you here."

Buffy stared down at her shoes, kicking her foot against the floor in frustration. "But it's just one—

"I'm sorry Buffy."

Desperate now, she said in a rush, "Willow and Xander and Oz and Cordy are all going and my mom said it was okay and we were going to take Oz's van down and it would be really safe and I'm sure there are vampires in LA. I can just fight the forces of darkness there for a night." She smiled hopefully at him. He stared back at her sadly.

Buffy nodded in resignation. "Fine. I get it. Buffy can't take a night off. Buffy can't do something she may never get to do again. Buffy has to go out and possibly _die_ instead." Angrily, she walked over to the libraries counter and grabbed her backpack. Without saying goodbye, she stormed out of the library, the doors swinging long after she was gone.

Sometimes Giles hated his job.

"I mean it's not fair!" Buffy cried out in frustration. "It's like he wants to destroy any possible chance I have of maintaining a social life!" She punctuated these words with a hard punch to her reluctant listener's nose, and was rewarded with a very satisfying loud crack. "Would it be so hard for him to say, 'sure Buff, you've been working mega hard lately, take a break, kick up your heels, stop and smell the god damn roses?' Would that be _so_ hard?"

"Um, no?"

"I know! He's so unreasonable!" Her attacker made the foolish choice to rush her at this point and Buffy tripped him with ease. The vampire lay sprawled out on the ground, staring up at her, ridges drawn and yellow eyes blazing. Did all slayers talk this much?

"He's like a Nazi! A Nazi in tweed!" Seemingly pleased with this assessment, she focused on her opponent, driving a stake quickly through his heart and watching with wavering interest as he exploded into a cloud of dust. She stared at the ground for a couple seconds and mumbled to herself with little emotion, "And the world will live to see another day…go me." Dusting off her new pair of jeans, she glanced around the cemetery to see it utterly deserted. The night had been slow, Buffy only seeing two fledgings that she disposed of easily.

With a weary sigh, she turned and headed for the gates, mindlessly humming "Yellow Submarine" under her breath, all the while cursing Xander who had been singing it all day at school. Her friends were leaving at six the following morning. They would be staying with a friend of Oz's who lived in what he described as a loft.

A loft.

She had never even seen a loft.

And they would be in Los Angeles, a place she was quite intimate with. Her childhood home, the place that her dad still lived…

This thought gave her brief pause. Her dad. Her _father_—the man who had held her in the night when she woke up screaming, dried her tears when Tyler broke up with her, read her stories at night, and given her a kiss on the cheek when he saw her report card. Or well, probably not that last one.

Her dad.

Okay, yes, maybe that was the crux of the issue. Buffy conceded with reluctance that although her love for Modest Mouse was indeed genuine and her desire to meet the lead singer of the band severe, the chance to see her father for the first time in months was more appealing than she cared to admit. He had stopped coming to Sunnydale. He had stopped calling. Hell, he had even stopped sending checks to her mother. He had become the typical absentee father and she hated how much it was hurting.

She just wanted to hate him.

Hate was simple.

With a heavy sigh she turned onto her own block, her house coming into view. Reaching the door, she wearily slipped in the key and walked inside, shedding her coat and draping it over the living room couch. Stomach rumbling, Buffy walked into the kitchen and began searching the freezer for the last of the Ben and Jerry's ice cream.

She was halfway through the container when she realized something was wrong. Pausing from her perch on top of the counter she glanced around the room, which suddenly seemed much darker. There was something _in_ her house. She felt it with every fiber of her being. The silence became deafening, the darkness engulfing, and the draft from the open window freezing. Something was very. wrong.

In a flash she was off the counter and running up the stairs. "Mom?" she called out. When nobody answered her heart began to beat louder, faster until she was sure it would beat right out of her chest. The door to her mother's room was open. Inside there was a very dim light and off in the corner –

"Who are you?"

The man in the corner smiled, his lips curling into something that looked hideous and _evil_.

"Hello, Miss Summers," He hissed. "I must say it's a pleasure to finally meet you." He seemed to ponder her a moment, his eyes running up and down her body. "I imagined you'd be taller, but you're so deceptively…fragile looking."

"Well if you'd like, I can show you just how fragile I'm not," Buffy said, eyes flashing dangerously.

"So much confidence for one so young."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "I'm mature like that. Big on the old confidence scale."

"Confidence is deadly."

The Slayer blinked. "Right. Okay. Death to confidence."

An awkward silence descended upon the room. Buffy's hand fell to the pocket of her jeans where she still held a stake, its presence comforting. Attempting to be discreet, the Slayer allowed her eyes to dart around the room, desperately searching for any signs of—

"You're looking for your mother," the man stated.

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "Where is she?"

His eyes drifted over towards her mother's bathroom. Buffy followed his gaze, her heart beating quickly, her breath coming in short pants. Very calmly she walked over to the door of the room and pushed it open, the hinges creaking eerily. The body that lay on the floor looked like it had been there for hours. Her mom's eyes were open and lifeless. For a moment Buffy just stood there in shock. This was not real. Her mother could not be dead. With sudden clarity she dropped to her knees and began to shake the body in front of her. "Mom," she spoke loudly. "You have to wake up now. You can't…" She was crying. When had she started crying? "Mom?" she said weakly. "The floor is cold and hard and you have to…you have to get up."

Nothing.

"Mom, please…"

She shook her harder, desperate, scared, and so very alone.

"Mom! MOM!" She let out a choked sob. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," she muttered, her voice sounding weak. She was shaking.

"Mommy?" Tears ran down her cheeks. This was. not. real. "Please don't leave me alone…"

"Don't worry Elizabeth. You won't be alone."

The man was standing directly behind her. He placed her hand on her shoulder and Buffy's entire being rebelled at its presence. She jerked away.

"What did you do to her?" she whispered brokenly.

"I killed her."

No no no no no no no no. This was not happening. She needed…she needed her mom. She needed Giles. She needed somebody to pinch her tell her that everything was going to be okay. Oh god. She felt sick. Everything was becoming hazy. Bile was rising in the back of her throat. Tears ran down her cheeks like rivers. Was the world spinning?

She looked at the lifeless body on the ground and at the man above her and then she doubled over, heaving, gasping, her lungs desperate to suck in air. The bile that had been building in the back of her throat was suddenly pouring out of her body, until she was puking up blood and acid.

Where was her mom?

"Who are you?" she demanded with little emotion in her voice.

The man bent down to her level and smiled. Buffy's stomach churned. "My name is Lord Voldemort." He reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You and I are going to get to know each other very well, Elizabeth."

And then he was muttering something in a language she didn't understand. The world began to fade around her.

She welcomed the darkness.


	2. Weak Become Heroes

**Authors note: **Aha! You all thought I abandoned this! Well, I almost did, but then I got inspired again, so here you are, chapter 2 in all its long awaited glory. I was wonderfully surprised by the response of the first chapter and I can only hope that this meets everybody's expectations. The next three weeks are going to be crazy for me school wise, what with finals and everything, so I wont have a lot of time to write, but alas, I will try, so bear with me.

Side note: the timeline in this story is pretty fucked up. I don't know what I was thinking. I just didn't plan it out well, I suppose. Here's the deal. Buffy is sixteen. For some reason, Oz is already part of the gang. God knows why. Harry is going into his sixth year so Sirius is dead, but Dumbledore is very much alive. Any more questions, just let me know and I'll try to sort it all out. Without further ado, here you are. Enjoy like you enjoy chocolate, unless you're not a fan of chocolate, in which case, enjoy it like you enjoy something else you enjoy.

P.S. I stole the title for this chapter from the band The Streets. Check them out if you've never heard of them because they kick ass.   
Chapter 2 

"**Weak Become Heroes"**

_The miserable have no other medicine but only hope. _

_ --William Shakespeare in Measure for Measure_

Bergen, Norway May 6, 2000 

**12:50 PM**

At first there was nothing.

This didn't really bother her. There had been a brief time upon waking up when she had been terrified, when she had screamed and cried and attempted to break down the door of the small cell she had found herself in, but that didn't last long. As soon as the memories kicked in, the fact that she was in a cold, dark, wet, stone dungeon became as unimportant as her geometry homework once was. Nobody came to see her. She wasn't given food or water. It was cold, maybe freezing. She could see her breath in the air. Off in the corner there was a constant drip of water coming from…somewhere. She wasn't sure where. Hell, she didn't care where. Most of the time she didn't even hear it. All she heard was _His_ voice telling her that her mother was—

No.

Don't think about that.

Mustn't think about _that_.

In the morning, her mother used to make her pancakes. She would try to make them look like things—stars and Christmas trees and hearts—and she would always laugh when they came out wrong. Then they'd sit and eat and her mother would kiss her on the cheek and tell her that one day she would make them perfectly. Buffy would always roll her eyes. Perfect pancakes would probably be boring.

Sometimes she would pace the length of the cell. Slayers weren't meant to be enclosed in small areas. She was pretty sure she had read that somewhere. A part of her thought that this would go on forever, that they would simply forget her and she would live out the rest of her existence in this little tomb. Strangely, this didn't bother her either. There were worse things in life.

There were days when she cried. She didn't know why. Everything was fine. Her mother had told her that she would _always_ be there for her and her mother never lied.

She tried to forget that the body had been really cold.

She never thought about the fact that the eyes had been lifeless.

When she cried, she only knew because the tears on her skin were hot.

Where was Giles? Hadn't _he_ told her he would always be there for her? Where were Willow and Xander? She couldn't be sure, but…she was pretty sure she needed them right now.

_Giles, I'm sixteen years old. I don't want to die._

Sixteen seemed much older now.

Any ways, for a while there had been nothing and then…then there was a lot of screaming. Sometimes she realized it was coming from her own mouth. But then, she was pretty sure anybody would have screamed. The pain was, after all, agonizing.

**Scotland, England**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**July 17, 2000**

**10:40 AM**

Her first reaction was to run out of the room.

Eyelids fluttering open, gaze warily taking in her unknown surroundings, she felt her muscles tense immediately. Around her, people were speaking in a flurry of hushed whispers. Occasionally somebody's voice would rise to a level deemed inappropriate and the others would hush their colleague immediately. A couple months ago Buffy might have rolled her eyes and explained to them the wonders of Slayer hearing, but a month ago was not today and today Buffy simply closed her eyes and pretended to still be asleep, all the while carefully listening to every word that came out of their mouths.

Giles would have been so proud.

"Well I think it's fairly clear that Dumbledore should _not_ have brought her into the school."

A woman cleared her throat. "I'm sure Dumbledore had his reasons for—

"We don't even know who she _is_," a man hissed.

"Is that really important? She was with _You Know Who…"_

A silence, so thick Buffy felt sure she could reach out and run her fingers through it.

Finally, somebody said very quietly, "She can't be more than sixteen-years-old."

This seemed to make the others tense up and without saying much, they all filed out of the room. Clearly they hadn't learned what she had. Age was unimportant, relative and transitory. Sixteen could very easily be thirty with the right life experiences.

For the next hour or so she concentrated on making her breathing as regular as possible. Somebody kept coming in and out of the room, muttering nonsensical things under her breath and replacing what felt like a cool rag on Buffy's forehead. Buffy wasn't quite ready to find out where she had ended up after her flight in the woods, or how she had survived a two hundred foot drop off a cliff. All she knew was that she was in no pain and for right now, that was enough to keep her quiet and still for quite some time.

But then, things never really went the way she wanted them to.

Another presence entered the room. Her ears strained to follow his footsteps as he walked over to her bed and pulled up a chair beside her, brushing a lock of long (when was the last time she had cut it?) blonde hair out of her eyes. Buffy forced herself not to flinch.

"And how is our patient doing?" the man beside her asked, presumably to whomever else was in the room. His voice was kind. Buffy relaxed slightly.

"No change as far as I can see," a woman said. "She's still running a bit of a temperature, but she's getting better."

"And the slash on her stomach?" he said after a brief pause.

"All healed. I used some of the Sundew leaves from the Herbology classroom and they patched her up right nice," the woman said, seemingly proud of her forthrightness and quick thinking.

"Excellent," the man murmured. For a moment it was quiet and then, "Madam Pomfrey, if you don't mind terribly, may I request a minute alone with the girl?"

Buffy couldn't stop herself from tensing. She hoped he hadn't been looking at her. Luckily, Madam Pomfrey didn't seem too enthused about this suggestion either. "But Dumbledore, she needs –

"Just one minute, Poppy."

And with that Buffy was left alone with the stranger. Trying not to panic, Buffy waited for the inevitable. She was not disappointed.

"I must say, Miss Summers, tracking you down was not easy."

Resigning herself to her fate, she opened her eyes very slowly, blinking rapidly at the bright light, not even questioning how exactly he had known she was awake when not even her caretaker had. She was too tired to care. Upon examination, she quickly discovered she was in a room with a number of empty cots. Beside her, a man with a very long white beard and small spectacles sat, looking at her with kind, wise eyes.

"I'm only sorry I couldn't get to you sooner. You must understand, we tried everything we could think of, but, well, Voldemort kept you very well hidden." She hated that she flinched at the name and that all her blood ran cold, but she did and it did and she only hoped whoever this man sitting next to her was either wouldn't notice or wouldn't comment.

Following a long pause, curiosity got the better of her and after clearing her throat, she managed to get out of a mouth that felt as dry as cotton, "Who are you?"

The man smiled slightly and handed her a glass of water, which she accepted greedily. "Forgive me. I forget that I know so much about you, yet you know next to nothing about me. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I am Headmaster at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, your current location. Your watcher, Rupert Giles, is an old friend of mine. He contacted me shortly after your disappearance."

"Giles? Is he…?"

"Here? No. He's back in California, guarding the Hellmouth in your absence. We've sent him notice of your return though so I'm sure we'll here from him shortly," Dumbledore told her.

Buffy nodded and for a moment, the two just stared at each other, both seemingly unsure of how to proceed. Finally, Dumbledore said, "Miss Summers –

-- Buffy is fine."

He smiled. "Of course." Then, growing serious, he said, "Buffy, our world, one I know you only have an elementary understanding of, is facing a terrible war and you, you seem to have been pulled into it and for that, I am deeply, deeply sorry. For reasons I myself do not fully understand, Voldemort has taken a particular interest in you. What transpired between the two of you over the month he held you in his captivity is something I cannot even begin to fathom…"

She was shaking. She hated that she was shaking, but she suddenly couldn't control her limbs. "He—he wanted…" She trailed off, blinking rapidly against the tears that invaded her eyes.

Dumbledore put a soothing hand on her shoulder. "I'm not asking you to give me any answers, not yet. I understand that you need some time and I will be more than happy to give it to you."

Relieved, Buffy relaxed. "Then what do you…?"

"It's not safe for you to go home right now," Dumbledore continued gently. "Voldemort will realize that you did not in fact plummet to your death when you jumped off the cliff and will no doubt come looking for you. Our priority is to keep you safe and Sunnydale is no longer safe for you."

Buffy snorted. "Sunnydale isn't safe for anybody."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Dumbledore's face, but he seemed weary and resigned. "No, I suppose you're right. We've taken the liberty of relocating your friends, temporarily of course. They're safe and happy and should that happiness be disrupted, we'll move them again. The only connection you now have in Sunnydale is Mr. Giles and once the Watcher's Council can find a suitable replacement, he'll be moved as well. Buffy, you must understand, we made a grave mistake in not protecting you from this and we will make sure that situation is remedied."

"You're about a month and a half too late," Buffy said softly and angrily, thinking of lifeless eyes and a cold body.

Dumbledore looked down at this admission, contrite and truly sorry.

"I was sorry to hear about your mother."

"And my father," Buffy interrupted. At his surprised look she elaborated. "What, you didn't get the memo? He wasn't put under protection, my own father? How funny. The first time I had seen dear old dad in almost a year and he has ridges on his eyes and fangs coming out of his mouth. Do you know what it's like to be forced to kill your own father, to push a wooden stake through his heart and watch him turn to dust?"

"No, I don't. I'm sorry, Miss Summers."

"Buffy."

"Yes, quite right, sorry."

"It's all bygones by now, right? I mean, what's done is done. Mush mush. I live to see another day – I'm assuming I have you to thank for that."

"Yes, I created the portal which transported you here…"

Buffy nodded. "I thought so. Thanks a big one."

Dumbledore, looking at her with something akin to compassion, bowed his head in acknowledgement of her sarcastic gratitude. Silent for a moment, he watched her with bright blue eyes. "I want very much to help you and I believe that if you stayed here, you may find the education you receive very helpful in the coming months."

"You want me to stay in Hogwhatever and, what, go to _school_ here?" Buffy exclaimed incredulously.

Dumbledore looked at her seriously. "Buffy, Tom Riddle, or Voldemort as he is more commonly known, never took failure lightly. I have no doubt that he will continue to come after you until he has…_accomplished_…what he set out to. You are not safe. Your friends are not safe. What I am offering you is another means to protect yourself and those you love, a means that will ensure that the next time you meet, you will be better prepared to face him."

"By learning magic."

"Yes, by learning magic. In addition, I think you'll find Hogwarts a very therapeutic place to reside."

Buffy let out a long sigh. "What does Giles think about this?"

"Mr. Giles has the greatest respect for our institution. He thinks that you'll do very well here. Buffy, I cannot and would not force you to do anything you do not wish to, but I strongly suggest at least entertaining the idea."

Buffy felt her resolve crumbling. Here was man offering her protection – safety. What a foreign concept. When was the last time she had truly felt safe? Before she had been called? Before her parents started fighting?

Finally, she said, "I hate that this is happening."

Dumbledore nodded. "As do I, Miss Summers."

"He killed my parents."

"I know."

"He tortured me for hours at a time."

"I'm sorry."

Then, eyes on her bedspread and so quietly he had to strain his ears to hear, "I don't know if I can survive this."

"Miss Summers, you are one of the most extraordinary girls I have ever encountered. I have no doubt that you will survive this. And please remember, you are not alone."

Buffy nodded slowly, but if there was one thing she had learned over the past month it was that Slayers couldn't have friends or family. It only led to death.

"I'm tired," she finally said.

Dumbledore gave her one last long look and then rose quickly. "Of course. I'll leave you to get some rest. Please think about what I've said."

"Sure."

And with that, he left her alone with her thoughts. As she lay staring at the white ceiling, trying desperately not to think, she felt whatever hold she had had on her emotions crumble. With extreme frustration, she felt her eyes fill with tears. She wanted Giles. She wanted Willow and Xander and Oz. She wanted her bed and Mr. Gordo and –

Her mom. She wanted her mom to tell her that everything was going to be okay. She wanted her dad to hug her and tell her that there was no such thing as evil wizards bent on world domination. Her world was falling apart at her feet and she was completely powerless to stop it. And so she did the only thing she could – she cried. And cried. She cried herself into a dreamless sleep, dreading tomorrow and fighting against the ache that had crept into her chest.

Age was relative. Buffy Summers knew that to be a certainty. She was sixteen going on seventy and far from naïve.

This was, she knew, only the beginning.

And things were only going to get worse.

Many, many miles away, one Mr. Harry Potter, known around the wizard world as The Boy Who Lived, awoke with a start. His scar throbbing angrily for the first time in many months, he warily climbed out of bed and retrieved a parchment from his chest. Dipping a quill in a fresh pot of ink, he began to write in messy scrawl his latest vision.

"_A girl, with very long, blonde hair is falling through the sky when suddenly a portal opens up and she falls right through it, disappearing. On top of a cliff, Voldemort is angry, angrier than I have ever seen him. He says very coldly. "Bravo, Elizabeth."_

Bravo, indeed.

To be continued…

Well, that's it for now. Hope it met your expectations. Please review because it makes me feel special and it will probably convince me to keep going with this 


	3. Happiness is a Warm Gun

Author's note: I have no excuse. I just suck. Sorry? The title is from the Beatles, but I'm sure you all knew that. Enjoy and then review. That is all. Chapter Three Happiness is a Warm Gun 

**London, England**

**Platform 9 3/4**

**Beginning of term for Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Harry Potter stared at the bright, red train marked "Hogwarts Express." Behind him, a plump red haired woman was asking loudly if they had all remembered to bring their heavy coats. There was a chorus of exasperated "yes mom's!" in response and a flurry of movement as the motley crew moved collectively towards the train. Holding back, Harry felt his heart sink. So this was it. His sixth year at Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was about to begin and instead of the usual excitement he felt whenever he stood on platform nine and three quarters, he now felt only stale acceptance.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked gently.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nodded, forcing a smile.

"'Course. You ready?"

Looking unconvinced, Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile and helped him pick up his trunk. Mrs. Weasly had managed to get Ginny and Ron to stand next to each other long enough for her to give them both kisses. When she turned and saw Harry and Hermione, she reached out and hugged them both, her eyes suspiciously glassy.

Taking a long look at Harry, she said simply, "Be careful."

Managing a small smile, Harry nodded and said, somewhat sarcastically, "Always."

Together the three teens boarded the train, followed soon after by Ginny. They made their way through the cramped halls and found an empty compartment towards the back. Settling down comfortably, Harry watched with very little interest as the train lurched forward and scenery began to blur past them. He could hear Ron, Hermione, and Ginny talking, but for the life of him, he just couldn't force himself to join the conversation. It seemed like much too great of an effort.

XXXXX

They didn't notice her until they were already sitting. Strange, because she looked entirely out of place at the Gryffindor table and not just because she wasn't in uniform. Her blonde hair tumbled down her back in waves and the low cut shirt she wore was definitely _not_ regulation. Her skin had a deep tan as if she had spent hours laying out in the sun. She was, in a word, beautiful.

And familiar. Very familiar, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't seem to—

"Blimey," Ron said before he could stop himself and then reddened when she looked up at them, green eyes taking in the new comers with slight interest. Her eyes lingered on Harry or, more specifically, Harry's forehead. After a moment she looked away, seemingly unimpressed with both them and the hoards of chattering kids sitting down all around her. Through no fault of her own, she was soon monopolizing all the conversation in the room and it was only when the first years entered the hall that people finally stopped staring.

The hat sang. Names were called out. Boys and girls were placed in their respective houses. Dumbledore said a few words about vigilance and keeping out of the forbidden forest. His hand was curiously withered and he looked older somehow. Harry wondered what had happened that summer. He shared a look with Ron and Hermione, the same thought running through their heads. What had been strong enough to hurt Dumbledore so severely and why hadn't the hand healed yet? Harry felt his heartbeat pick up and made a mental note to talk to Dumbledore as soon as possible. If it involved Voldemort, as he was sure it did, then he deserved to know just what was going on. And soon. But meantime…

The feast began, food of all assortments covering the tables. Ron dug in almost immediately. Through a mouthful of turkey potpie he mumbled, "I love this bloody place."

Hermione eyed him with no small amount of exasperation. "Ron, slow down. You'll choke."

Ron glared at her. "Yes, _mum_."

Ignoring them both, Harry turned to his friends with more curiosity then he had showed in anything for weeks. "So, who do you think the girl is?"

Naturally inquisitive, Hermione immediately turned toward the blonde, eyeing her with open curiosity. The girl in question was playing with the food on her plate and appeared very uncomfortable.

"I'm not sure," she said finally. "It's strange though, isn't it? I mean, she's certainly not a first year…"

Ron snorted. "Definitely not."

Hermione glared at him, but refrained from saying anything.

"I suppose we could ask."

But at that moment she stood up from the table and began gathering her things. Harry felt himself blushing as he took in her short skirt and knee high black boots. Yup, definitely _not_ a first year. The entire school seemed to watch (none too subtly) as she walked out of the room and in her wake there was a flurry of conversation.

"I guess we're not the only ones who are curious."

XXXXXXX

Okay, so she wasn't going to win any popularity contests with the masses. It wasn't that she didn't want to meet new people. It was just…

Well. Fine. If she were honest with herself, all she really wanted to do was curl up in a dark corner. Alone.

She took a shaky breath. This was too much, too _soon_.

Dumbledore had convinced her to come down to the feast, something that was in no way an easy feet. Buffy had been more then reluctant. She had no desire to become the subject of gossip and countless rumors. No stranger to being the new student, she knew what to expect and she wasn't looking forward to it. It had been hard enough spending the summer at the school under the watchful eyes of a full staff of professors, but step by step, she had gradually grown comfortable in the castle, grown to accept the people, the moving paintings and staircases, the ghosts, and Dumbledore's peculiar love of lemon drops. She could now smile at Snape's scowling and Professor McGonagall's blatant disapproval of her wardrobe. Things were falling into a routine here – a routine that was proving to be a step towards recovery.

And now it was changing. The walls of protection she had built around herself were about to be demolished.

Sighing softly, Buffy walked determinedly down one of the many halls in Hogwarts until she stood outside the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Mumbling, "Tootsie Roll" under her breath (and yes, that had been her influence), she trotted up the stairs and entered the one room she had learned to feel perfectly safe in. Dumbledore himself wasn't there of course, but she was content to curl up in a chair in the corner and flip idly through _Hogwarts: A History _while she waited for his return.

The first time she had entered this room had been shortly after her much protested leave from the hospital wing. Giles had been with her and Buffy remembered feeling the warmth radiating from both the wizened wizard sitting behind the massive desk and the general disarray of the office.

It had been so unlike…before…before with Him where everything had been cold and wet and hard and every sound had made her jump and every smell had made her sick. Here she was safe, but there…

Her mind drifted, even as she clenched her eyes shut and willed the images to go away.

_She was in hell. That was simply the only explanation._

_She felt weak. Her limbs were limp and tired. When was the last time they had fed her? Had they ever fed her? Days had blurred together a long time ago. Time had lost all meaning. _

_The room (was it a room?) was pitch black, but she could hear _**everything**_ and that was almost worse than the all-consuming darkness. Every drip of water and every shuffle of movement from some unfortunate rat (for even rats didn't deserve to live with Him) left her trembling._

_She remembered the pain. _

_The surface she was lying on was hard. They had her strapped down, not that it would matter one way or another. She was far too weak to run. He must have known that. He knew everything. _

_A door opened. Light flooded in. Buffy was left blinking rapidly as her eyes tried to adjust to the sudden absence of darkness. A man walked in. He had long pale hair and he was holding a knife. Instinctively, Buffy began to struggle. _

_Forcing words past chapped lips, she said desperately, "Please don't." She was crying, but for once she didn't care. The Slayer was tired of being strong. For just a moment, she wanted to be a sixteen-year-old girl._

_He seemed to enjoy her obvious fear and played with the knife for a moment before slicing the leather that bound her arms and legs. Confused, Buffy pushed herself into a sitting position. "What…?"_

"_The Dark Lord has a present for you," the man said and his voice was cruel and hard and…smug. Reaching behind him, he pulled a long wooden stake from inside his robes and handed it to her. Taking the weapon with trepidation, she watched as the man turned and left. For a moment she was alone and then there was something in the doorway. No, not something. Somebody. A person…_

_Oh god. Not a person. Not a person. Not a—_

"_Hello, sweetie."_

Nobody could be this cruel. Nobody with a soul could possibly… 

_Her dad smiled at her. _

_Buffy opened her mouth to scream. _

"I thought you would come here."

Buffy's head jerked up. She hadn't heard him enter. He was looking at her with obvious concern and Buffy wiped angrily at the tears staining her cheeks.

"Yeah, well, it was this or the dorms with the many British students and their questions."

Dumbledore smiled gently at her and walked around his desk to sit heavily down in his chair. He pulled out a box of lemon drops and held them up to her. "Would you like one?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "How many of those do you think you eat a day?"

Looking thoughtful for a moment, Dumbledore finally said in all seriousness, "Well, I'm fairly sure the maker of these fine candies will be able to buy his children Firebolts this Christmas." Off Buffy's blank look, he elaborated, "Very nice brooms."

"Brooms?"

"To fly on." Buffy blinked.

"Are you serious?"

"Quite."

"How come nobody told me about this?"

"We thought you knew," Dumbledore said innocently.

"That you guys are channeling the television show _Bewitched_? Not so much."

"Well, we'll have to get Mr. Potter to take you for a spin."

Buffy closed _Hogwarts: A History_ and gave her full attention to the headmaster. "The infamous boy-who-needs-a-new-nickname can fly?"

"He's the best there's been in a hundred years," Dumbledore said with a small prideful smile.

"Kudos to him."

"Indeed."

There was a rare moment of silence between them as Buffy fiddled with the hem of her skirt. "How long can I hide up here?" she finally asked.

Dumbledore watched her kindly as she avoided his eyes. "For as long as you wish," he assured her.

Buffy waited. "But…?"

He smiled gently. "But the longer you put this off, I imagine the harder it will become."

Buffy scowled. "Leave it to you to be all insightful."

"It's the hat," Dumbledore said seriously, pointing to his very flamboyant purple wizard's hat with stars and moons on it. "It's not just for looks, you know."

"Color me stunned," Buffy said dryly.

"Many are," he said seriously. "And speaking of fashion…"

Heaving a drawn out sigh, Buffy hastily said, "Yeah, yeah. Wear a uniform because," adopting a bad British, she continued, "there are certain rules and regulations at this school that must be followed and one of them is to look like a boring, stuffy, cliché British person."

"Am I to assume you've been talking to Minerva then?"

"You are."

"Very good."

Buffy quirked an eyebrow at him. "We're going to have to agree to disagree on that."

He smiled. "Your outfit caused quite a stir today."

"Yeah, what's up with that? I mean, are there not H&M's in the wizarding world?" Off his blank look, Buffy's eyes grew wide. "I've changed my mind. Get me out of here."

"I suppose I should have warned you."

"Damn straight!"

Relaxing for a moment, Buffy reluctantly looked towards the door. "Alright. Time to go make nice with the other kiddies."

"They're all very friendly," Dumbledore said helpfully.

Brow furrowing, Buffy said, "Clearly you have not spent ample time around sixteen year old girls."

"Not ample, no."

"Nice is not a word we generally use to describe them. Now, manipulative, gossipy, self-involved…"

"You're stalling and, may I point out, sixteen yourself."

A pause. "Well…yes." When Dumbledore failed to respond, Buffy stood up from her chair and began to walk towards the door. "Alright, alright. I'm going…"

"Buffy?" Dumbledore called to her before she reached the door. Hand on the knob she turned back to him curiously. "You're welcome to come back at any time."

Ducking her head, she said, "Thanks." Then, with a final look at the headmaster, she began her walk to the Gryffindor common room.

XXXXXX

As it turned out, this was a more difficult task then she had originally anticipated due to the fact that Peeves decided it was a brilliant time for him to throw water balloons at Buffy. Therefore, it was a very irate and wet Slayer who entered the common room, much to the surprise of everybody present.

Not bothering to pretend to be in a mood to socialize, she marched directly to the sixth year sleeping quarters and slammed the door. She would make friends tomorrow. As for tonight…

Flopping down on her bed, she closed her eyes for a moment and took a long breath. "Why can't this day just _end_?" she groaned.

"Um…hello," a voice said from across the room.

Buffy jerked up, startled to find herself staring at a bushy haired girl looking rather alarmed at the sudden appearance of her new roommate.

"Hi," Buffy said, somewhat embarrassedly. "Sorry, I didn't realize anybody else was in here."

The girl nodded, looking thoughtful. "That's okay." Silence. Painfully, awkward silence. Buffy closed her eyes again. When she opened them, the girl was holding a towel in front of her face. "Here, it looks like you could use this."

Buffy accepted the towel gratefully and began a somewhat futile attempt to dry her hair. "Thanks. I had a not so pleasant run in with a pain in my ass."

"Peeves?"

"Stupid ghost," Buffy grumbled.

The girl nodded sympathetically.

"I'm Hermione Granger."

"Buffy Summers."

"Are you…American?" Hermione asked, somewhat hesitantly, but clearly too curious to keep her mouth shut.

"Yeah," Buffy said, looking tired. "I'm from California.'

Looking all the more intrigued (much to Buffy's dismay), Hermione quickly asked, "Are you…I mean…will you be attending Hogwarts?"

Buffy looked down at her bedspread and fiddled with a loose thread. "More or less," Buffy answered vaguely.

Walking to the bed directly across from Buffy, Hermione sat down, plainly impressed with this latest bit of information. "So are you a transfer?"

"No. Not exactly."

Her brow furrowed. "You went to a muggle school?"

Buffy nodded.

"Then how—

"Dumbledore asked me to come," Buffy jumped in, clearly wanting to end this line of questioning and hoping that bringing up the much revered headmaster would be enough to curb Hermione's curiosity. Hermione, as if sensing Buffy's discomfort, showed an uncharacteristic amount of tact and allowed the subject to drop.

"Well, um, welcome to Hogwarts," she said sincerely.

Looking up, Buffy gave her a genuine smile. "Thanks."

"This must be a bit overwhelming."

Buffy smirked. "A bit, but it's getting easier and I mean, next to Snape, how bad can five hundred teenagers be?"

Hermione laughed. "Not too bad, I suppose." She glanced towards the door. "I was going to…well, my friends are out there. I could introduce you if you'd like…?"

"Thanks, but I think I'm just gonna crash. It's been…a long day."

Hermione nodded. "Alright. I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Count on it."

"Goodnight Buffy."

Buffy smiled. "Night."

Hermione closed the door gently behind her and Buffy quickly changed into pajamas. Climbing into bed she switched off the light and crawled under the covers, not bothering to brush her teeth or wash her face. For a moment, she lay perfectly still in the darkness, idly wondering if any other Slayers had been afraid of the dark.

She doubted it.

**To be continued…**

Well, that's chapter three. Please review. I crave your feedback.


	4. The Way We Get By

**Author's Note: **Bet nobody expected this. You were all thinking, eight…sixth months. Hell, maybe never, But alas! I had four days off work. I felt sick for about, oh, three of them. And voila! Chapter 4 in all its not so long awaited glory. I do have ONE teeny bone to pick with all of you. It's like…a chicken bone, so worry not. Here's the thing. The last chapter got 2500 hundred hits (yay!), but only eleven people reviewed (boo!). What's up with that, mis amigos? To those who did review, thank you very much. You rock my world. A lot.

What else…title taken from the band Spoon. They also rock. There will be pairings in this story. Be patient. No, the Scoobies are not gone from Buffy's life. They will make an appearance in due time. And to all those who have questions, just wait. It'll all make sense in the end.

The Way We Get By 

Tragedy blows through your life like a tornado, uprooting everything. Creating chaos. You wait for the dust to settle and then you choose. You can live in the wreckage and pretend it's still the mansion you remember. Or you can crawl from the rubble and slowly rebuild.

_-Veronica Mars_

Buffy woke to a flurry of movement all around her. When she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly at the light pouring in from the windows, she took in the five girls scurrying about the room. To their credit, they were trying their best to keep quiet. A futile gesture of course, but still…Buffy gave them points for effort.

Hermione was not in the room, so Buffy's one friend – no, that wasn't right – Buffy's one _acquaintance_ wasn't there to make things a tad bit easier. As a result, Buffy found herself closing her eyes once again and waiting for the other girls to leave the room. When they did, she slowly rose from her bed and disdainfully donned her uniform.

Okay, it wasn't _that_ bad. In fact, tie up the tails of the blouse and she may have been able to pass for an extra in a Britney Spears music video. But Buffy had always liked clothes and taking away one of her favorite livelihoods – assembling a killer outfit – was distressing if nothing else, another reminded that she was far, _far_ from home. She debated for only a moment on whether or not to tuck in the shirt (_hell_ no), decided to forgo the knee high socks all together and, after discovering that she didn't even know _how_ to tie a tie, stuffed it in the pocket of her book bag. Quickly putting her hair in a half ponytail and applying some eyeliner, she took one look in the mirror, decided she was presentable, and exited the room.

When Giles had arrived at Hogwarts one week after her own untimely arrival, he had brought with him a trunk with the majority of her things, assuring her that he had put the rest safely in storage. In a true testament of the trauma Buffy had been through, she had immediately sought out Mr. Gordo and had refused to put him down for the next three days. Childish, yes, but also comforting. Coolness be damned.

Giles had stayed for a total of two weeks, enough time to assure himself that she was physically alright and that she was adjusting to life at Hogwarts. He was by her side as she was sorted into Gryffindor and had patiently walked around the grounds with her, explaining that no, she could not slay the mermaids and yes, it was perfectly natural for the paintings to move. One time he had caught her mid shouting match with a large painting of an old fashioned woman sitting in a rocking chair who had apparently taken personal offence to Buffy's attire. He had been forced to drag Buffy out of the hallway for fear of Buffy's, err, _destructive_ tendencies and had forbidden her to engage in conversation with the paintings ever again.

Of course, he could not stay, not only because muggles weren't traditionally allowed on Hogwarts grounds (although exceptions had been made time and time again), but also because Willow and Xander were now depending on him as a parental guardian. He promised he would keep in touch.

The common room was very nearly empty and the occupants who _were_ in the room – three boys who she was pretty sure she had seen sorted yesterday – looked about as nervous as she felt. Taking her time to get to the Great Hall, she finally pushed open the doors, bracing herself for the stares and—

Nothing. The hall was half filled, but people were engrossed in books and conversation and nobody even looked up as she entered the room. Feeling better about the entire situation, Buffy walked over to the Gryffindor table and, seeing Hermione playing distractedly with her eggs on her plate while her attention was fully dedicated to the large tomb in front of her, warily slipped into a seat across from her.

Hermione looked up, startled. Upon recognizing Buffy she said quickly, "Good morning."

"Is it alright if I…?"

"Of course."

Hermione politely closed the book she was reading and Buffy immediately recognized it as _Hogwarts: A History_. Taking a small amount of pride in the fact that she had actually read the book earlier that summer in her desire to find out more about Tom Riddle, she somewhat eagerly jumped on the subject.

"Have you gotten to the house ghost rebellion yet?"

To her surprise, Hermione's jaw dropped. "Wait, you've actually **read** _Hogwarts: A History_?"

Confused, Buffy nodded. "Sure, I read it this summer."

In retrospect, Buffy was pretty sure that was when Hermione and her made the transition from acquaintances to friends.

XXXXXXXX

"I'm just saying, I think she ought to stop worrying about _our_ academics and focus on her own."

Harry raised an eyebrow at his best friends latest rant. "Ron, as much as I hate to say this, she's kind of right. I mean, we've got our NEWTS next year and if we—

"Oh bloody hell, Harry! Not you too!" Ron exclaimed in disgust. "I can't believe you're taking her side."

"I'm not taking sides."

"Classes haven't even started yet. With everything that's going on, I think we've all got more important things to worry about then whether or not you forgot your stupid potions text book," Ron grumbled.

Harry shrugged. "I'll just get one from the library, I suppose. I'm just glad Quidditch is back on. I don't think I could go through another year without it."

"Yeah, me either."

The two boys walked into the Great Hall and headed over to where they saw Hermione talking to…the blonde girl from last night. Well, this should be interesting, Harry thought.

Ron seemed to be similarly surprised. "When did they get all chummy?"

"She did mention that they spoke last night."

As they watched, Hermione untied her tie and demonstrated to the girl how to tie it. The blonde's brow was furrowed in concentration as she tried to imitate the movements with her own maroon and gold tie.

"No, no," they heard Hermione saying. "It's over, under, around and _then_ through."

After a failed attempt to copy Hermione, the blonde's shoulders sagged in defeat and she threw the tie down on the table in disgust. "These colors don't even do anything for my complexion."

"Here, give it to me." Tying it around her own neck, she loosened the knot at the top and handed it back to the girl so that she could just put it around her neck without having to tie it herself.

That was when the boys made their presence known, Ron sliding in next to Hermione and Harry sliding in hesitantly next to the blonde girl.

"I was wondering when you lot would make it out of bed," Hermione said to them by way of greeting.

"It's _lovely_ to see you as well, Hermione," Ron said sarcastically. "We slept fine, thanks for asking."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Guys, this is Buffy Summers. She's here from America. Buffy, this is Ron and that's Harry."

The three teens paused a beat, waiting for the inevitable reaction to Harry's name. When Buffy simply blinked, said hi, and took another bite of her toast, Harry found himself immensely glad that he apparently wasn't as popular in America as he was in England.

"So you're a yank?" Ron said through a mouthful of food.

Buffy nodded. "So they keep telling me."

"My older brother went over there once. There was some kind of dragon outbreak in this place called…damn, what was it?…North Dakota, I think."

"Dragon outbreak?"

"Yeah, this dragon had triplets or something and whole family started terrorizing some townspeople. Pretty standard."

"Hmm, I missed that one."

"Really? It was all over the wizard news."

Buffy glanced at Hermione. "I wasn't really in tune with the wizard world before this."

"You grew up muggle?"

"Yeah."

"So you just found out you're a witch?"

Buffy nodded. "About four months ago."

Ron looked impressed. "Wicked."

Harry hid a smile. "So what classes do you have?"

"Umm…" she said as she fumbled in her bag, eventually producing a rumpled parchment with a hastily scratched out schedule. "History of magic first and then a double potions, herbology, transfiguration …some sort of mind reading thing and—

Harry and Ron's eyebrows shot up. "Blimey! You have all that in one day?" Ron exclaimed, grabbing the parchment from Buffy's hand and looking it over.

Buffy shrugged. "I sort of have a lot of catching up to do."

"This is just cruel!"

"A full schedule is simply taking advantage of everything that Hogwarts has to offer," Hermione lectured. "Why, when I was in my third year I—

"Yes, and we all know how _brilliantly_ that turned out for you."

Buffy laughed, stopping the argument before it could truly get started. "It's not as bad as it sounds. For a lot of these classes I'm just sitting in so I won't have to worry about tests and homework and stuff."

Harry continued to look over the schedule. "A lot of these overlap with ours."

"You've got divination with the fifth year Slytherins. That's a bit of bad luck," Ron said apologetically.

"Why's that?" Buffy asked innocently.

"They're gits," Ron said simply.

"I see."

Hermione glanced at her watch and quickly stood up. "C'mon. We've only got five minutes to get to History of Magic."

"Good. I can catch up on some sleep." Ron started to follow Hermione out of the Great Hall.

"Ron Weasely!"

Buffy rose slowly, gathering her things and taking a last bite of toast. Harry waited until she was standing before they both trailed after a still arguing Ron and Hermione.

"They're certainly…vocal."

Harry laughed. "That's one way of putting it."

She smiled at him and Harry Potter decided right then that he wanted to see her smile a lot more often.

XXXXXXX

Come one-o-clock, Buffy lay on the grass by the lake, her arm shielding her eyes from the sun and her blouse pushed up to expose her stomach and hopefully get her a tan. After an hour of listening to a monotone lecture on the difference between wands, followed by two hours of Snape glaring at her and criticizing her every move, she was at the end of her rope. Lunch could not have come sooner. All she wanted to do was lie here and eat her sandwich in peace and—

"So you're the yank."

_Great_, Buffy thought, inwardly groaning.

Without moving her arm, she said shortly, "Yup."

"And you're a mudblood?"

"Probably."

The intruder was silent for a moment. He was looking at her. Maybe if she ignored him he'd go away.

"Draco Malfoy."

Sigh.

Buffy removed her arm and stared up at the newcomer. He was cute in an annoying sort of way.

"Buffy," she finally offered.

"That's a name?"

"So it would seem, _Draco_."

He glared at her and Buffy felt a flare of recognition hit her, but she couldn't wrap her mind around where she had—

He sat down next to her.

"Have a seat, make your self comfortable," Buffy said, making her aggravation evident.

He was silent for a moment, simply staring out at the lake as if she wasn't even there. Buffy took the time to examine him. He had white blond hair, pale skin, and sharp, angular features. His clothes were pristine and expensive looking. Around his neck he wore a green and silver tie, which, if she understood the sorting correctly, made him a Slytherin.

Finally, he turned to look at her, his eyes boring into hers with a hint of amusement. She bristled. "Everybody's talking about you," he told her, as if she didn't already know.

"Oh, yeah. What are they saying?"

"Mostly that you're a yank, that you have no history in magic and that you're hot," he replied bluntly.

"You came to investigate?"

He glanced down at her. She noticed his eyes take in her bare midriff. "Yes."

Shrugging, Buffy crossed her ankles and put her arm back over her eyes. "Well, I'm pretty sure you've Sherlock Holmed all you need to know."

"Who's Sherlock Holm?"

"Holmes. He was….nevermind. It's not important." Then, as an after thought, "You wizard people seriously need to get out more."

She was pretty sure he was glaring at her again. Perhaps she should inform him that he couldn't actually kill her with just the power of his eyes? She frowned. Unless he was a Mathison demon, but she sincerely doubted that Dumbledore would—

She heard the rustle of something. What was he…

She opened her eyes and sat up. Was he actually opening his _lunch_?

"What are you doing?"

"Eating lunch."

Her eyes narrowed. "I can see that, Captain Obvious, but why are you eating lunch _here_?"

"Clearly not for the pleasant company," he said pointedly.

"There's a perfectly nice dining room—

"But the weather is so _lovely_ this time of year."

Buffy clenched her teeth. "It has a moving ceiling with clouds. Practically the same thing."

"I'm not really one for substitutes." He smirked. "Am I bothering you, Miss Summers?" He pouted. "And I've been so nice."

"You called me a mudblood!"

"You don't even know what that means," he said casually.

Well, that was…true. "It didn't sound nice," she said somewhat lamely.

He shrugged. "It's not."

"So why'd you say it?"

"Why do you care?"

"Don't answer a question with a question. It's annoying."

He laughed. "If this bothers you so much, you're welcome to leave."

"I was here first!"

"And I was here second," Draco stated, somewhat dramatically. "I can't see where you're going with this."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "Well, nobody accused you of being particularly bright."

"Harsh!" Draco said with mock sadness. "And I'll have you know, I'm top of the sixth year Slytherin class."

"Do you want a cookie? A gold medal perhaps?" Buffy asked sarcastically.

"Oh come on! You're not even slightly impressed that I'm incredibly good looking _and_ intelligent?"

"No, but the size of your ego is rather impressive."

"So you have no qualms with my looks?"

"What do you care what I think? I'm a dirt blood, remember?" Buffy said, reminding him of his earlier words.

"Mudblood."

"Same difference."

"Actually—

Buffy threw her hands up in exasperation. "I give up. Talking to you is like talking to a wall." Her brow furrowed. "An annoying wall."

Draco smirked.

Buffy glared.

Somebody coughed behind them. They both looked up. Hermione, Ron, and Harry were staring at them with bewildered expressions on their faces. Buffy was somewhat disconcerted that she hadn't heard them approach.

"Hail, hail, the gangs all here," Draco said. "Come to save a damsel in distress from interesting conversation?"

Buffy snorted.

Harry shot Draco an annoyed look. "Is he bothering you?"

"Only in the literal sense."

"I'm touched, Elizabeth."

Buffy's head whipped around. For a moment, her world stopped. "What did you just call me?" she choked out.

Her eyes had become cold and almost emotionless. Draco refused to look away. Instead, he said very slowly, "It was a joke. Calm down."

"It wasn't funny."

"Yes, I'm beginning to recognize that."

"That's not my name."

He smiled. "How could I forget?"

Realizing that she now had three pairs of eyes staring at her critically, she quickly gathered her things and stood up. Brushing off her skirt, she turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione and said, "I'll see you guys in Herbology."

"Yeah," Hermione said, clearly puzzled.

She walked off without a backward glance.

To be continued. I'm off to go make a calzone, or…well…watch somebody else make a calzone and offer helpful tidbits of advice and encouragement. Review! Did ya like it? Hate it? Let me know!


	5. Your Heart Is An Empty Room

Author's note: You guys rock my world. Seriously. I'm sorry this took so long, but hey, it could be worse. So, I'm having far more fun then I expected writing my version of one Mr. Draco Malfoy. Take that to mean what you will. The title of the chapter is taken from Death Cab for Cutie, one of my favorite bands. Enjoy. Review. Tell me if it sucks. Seriously, I want to know. Just be nice about it ;) Your Heart is an Empty Room 

_And all you see is where else you could be,_

_when you're at home,_

_There on the street, _

_are so many possibilities to not be alone_

_-Death Cab for Cutie_

Quentin Travers had never been patient. He was an important man and anything that kept him waiting was, frankly, a waste of precious time. This was no secret for he made it abundantly clear when he was annoyed or frustrated with the people around him. Most went out of their way to ensure that his needs were attended to promptly because, although not a patient man, he was certainly an intimidating man. Yes, Quentin Travers was used to getting his way, which was exactly why his present situation was leaving him increasingly angry.

"If you would kindly remind Voldemort that I have been—

The man beside him quirked a brow and glared down at the aging man beside him, clearly unmoved by his building frustration. Quentin's eyes drifted to the dark tattoo on his arm. "You're welcome to leave at any time."

"Maybe I will."

The man's eyes were hard and confident. "No, you won't."

Annoyed at his assurance of this fact, Quentin went rigid. "What makes you so sure?"

"You want something from him."

"Indeed? And what, pray tell, might that be?"

"Power."

That shut him up. Yes, he did want power. He craved power like a drug and Voldemort would ensure that he got his next fix. That is, if he played his cards right. With a resigned sigh and a final glare, he settled back into the cushions of the old couch in the decrepit house and waited.

At that moment, the door to the adjoining room opened and a short, lumpy looking fellow came out, shuffling his feet nervously, eyes darting around the room as if searching for something that simply wasn't there. Eventually, he looked at the two men in front of him.

"He'll see you now."

Resisting the urge to say 'finally,' Quentin followed the little man into the room, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dark light. There was a fire lit in the far corner and a very tall and angular man stood beside it, staring at the flames. He wore a dark hooded cloak that mostly concealed his face.

"Lord Voldemort," Quentin breathed.

"Mr. Travers," the man said, his voice deep and liquid cool. He turned and Quentin abruptly came face to face with the most infamous and deadly wizard in the entire world. His eyes were sunken but at one time might have blue. His was nearly bald and the lack of hair seemed to accentuate his pointed chin and cheekbones. Quentin resisted the urge to look away. He mustn't show any weakness. Not in front of this man. "I was…surprised to hear from the head of the Watcher's Council," Voldemort continued.

"Yes, well, I thought it might be beneficial to the both of us if we spoke," Quentin said hastily.

Voldemort looked unimpressed. "I see." Travers suddenly felt unsure.

"You…you have something I want and I have access to something you want."

He looked angry and Quentin was familiar enough with the emotion to know that it spurred from the man's own failure. "I know where she is," Quentin said quickly.

"So do I." Voldemort said. "That has never been the issue."

He should have figured that her location wouldn't be a secret. There were plenty of followers within Hogwarts. He would have that information almost instantly. Still…

"I can get her for you." Voldemort paused, staring at Quentin through eyes that revealed nothing. "You need her. I've read the prophesy. I know how important she is to you, to this cause. You need somebody on the inside, somebody who she trusts to get access to her. I can provide that."

"From my understanding, you haven't even _met_ the girl."

"Yes, but the Council—

"Is a bureaucratic organization that no sixteen year old girl, least of all Elizabeth, cares one bit about. Don't delude yourself, Mr. Travers. You have no power over your Slayer, if she ever was yours to begin with."

He was desperate now, grasping at straws. "I can find out where her friends are."

Quentin knew immediately that he had hit on something important because Voldemort now looked…happy. Quentin Travers drew back. Never before had an expression looked so disturbingly _wrong_ on a face.

"I'm listening."

Taking a deep breath, the head of the Watcher's Council began to talk.

XXXXXXX

"That's an interesting place to keep your wand."

Buffy absently moved a hand to the object in question, which was currently being implemented as a tool to hold her hair in place. "You see a wand, I see a fashion accessory that can make feathers float. Potato, Patato,"

Hermione's brow furrowed at this, clearly debating on the best way to inform her new friend that a wand was something to be revered, not toyed with, an endeavor which quickly proved fruitless when Buffy began to explain all the other things she had discovered one could do with a wand. Apparently, not only could they hold hair in place, they also made impeccable marsh mellow roasting sticks, stirrers for coffee and, when coupled with a piece of taped on paper, fly swatters. By the time she was finished, Ron and Harry were practically on the ground laughing and Hermione's mouth was gaping in shock.

"A fly swatter? You can't be serious," Hermione said.

Buffy nodded emphatically. "It's really simple. All you do is take a piece of parchment and—

"But it's your _wand_!"

Buffy shrugged. "I'm not seeing the bad."

"You're supposed to take care of it! It's not a…fly hitter! It's to be revered, and cherished. It's—

"Breath, 'Mione," Ron said.

"Don't worry. It's totally safe. Really, I'm an expert at keeping pencils in my hair. Why should this be any different?" Buffy said by way of assurance.

Hermione groaned, but abandoned the argument, subtly trying to hide the smile that was making its way across her face. Buffy had settled down rather well at Hogwarts. Sure, there were moments when the girl seemed to completely shut down, but they were becoming few and far between. It was nice having another female to talk to and Hermione had been pleasantly surprised by how well she and Buffy got along. In fact, Buffy seemed to get along with everybody at the school. She was practically idolized by most of the younger students and never failed to spur curiosity amongst the older ones. She had fast become the frequent subject of table talk and she had dealt with the situation with admirable calm, although Hermione knew it bothered her immensely. Buffy, she knew, would have rather lived in a box than face the inquiring faces of the Hogwarts' students. Luckily though, this was not an option.

Currently they sat in the library, each attempting to finish Snape's essay on the different uses of a billwither potion before tomorrow morning. Or well, Hermione was finishing it. Harry, Ron, and Buffy had long abandoned the boring topic in favor of throwing crumpled up pieces of parchment at each other while using books as barricades. Their giggles were fast drawing the attention of the other students in the library. Her friends were, unsurprisingly, totally oblivious to the people around them.

"Will you please _shut up_?" somebody hissed from across the room. Hermione looked over and rolled her eyes at the group of Slytherins clustering around the table next to theirs.

"Mind your own business," Ron said angrily, disappointed that his fun had been ruined.

The Slytherin glared. "I'm trying to work. We have an essay due tomorrow, or did that slip your pea sized brain?"

"Yeah," another one said. "Isn't that a another Weasely trait? Short-term memory, stupidity, and poverty?"

"Why you bloody git—" Ron started, only to be cut off by Hermione.

"It's not worth it, Ron. Let's just go."

"Not worth it?" Ron scoffed. "He just insulted my family!"

"We thought you'd be used to it by now," another one said smirking.

Ron started and Harry laid a hand on his arm in an attempt to keep him in his seat. Buffy was playing idly with her quill, looking completely uninterested even though Hermione knew she was following every word. Still, it was a surprise when she began absent mindedly, "Hey, you guys want to tone down the predictable insults? They're beginning to tire. You insult his family. He insults your general assholishness. Eventually somebody runs out of things to say and the word 'mudblood' is thrown around. Really, I can do this routine on my own."

Everybody stared at her. Finally, "Why don't you shut it, Summers. I don't care what Draco thinks. You're not _that_ hot."

"Hmm," she said. "I wasn't aware we were discussing my looks."

They looked uncomfortable. Buffy began gathering her books and Ron, Hermione, and Harry followed suit. As they were leaving the library, Buffy spared the Slytherins one last look and said all sugary sweetness, "A pleasure, as always."

Leaving the library, the four students walked slowly down the hallway towards the Gryffindor common room. Buffy was warily eyeing the paintings lining the walls. "I just don't understand why they have to move," she mumbled.

Quickly forgetting the previous argument, Hermione immediately went into lecture mode. "They don't _have_ to move. It's simply a form of magic that presents itself through the—"

"Not now Hermione," Ron interrupted, sounding tired.

Buffy shot him a glance. "You shouldn't let them get to you."

"Easy for you to say. Nobody _ever_ says anything mean about you."

"I don't know. That comment about my looks really stung," she said jokingly. "I mean, where do they get off—"

"Oh be serious," Ron snapped. "That guy would have fallen at your feet if you had let him."

Buffy shook her head. "That's an exaggeration." For a moment, they were silent. Fighting was not a usual occurrence among the four friends.

Harry took a deep breath. "Look Ron, you know that stuff about your family is a load of rubbish any ways. They're just trying to get to you. If you didn't react then they'd leave you alone."

Ron stopped walking and ran a hand through his hair. "It's kind of hard not to." He looked at Buffy. "How do you do it?"

Buffy blinked. "Do what?"

"Not care."

She shrugged. "They want to hurt you so they attack your insecurities." She paused. "They don't know what mine are." After saying this, she looked away, mind obviously elsewhere.

"You okay?" Hermione asked finally.

Buffy flashed her a bright smile causing her friend to flinch. It was too bright, too cheerful. "I'm always alright." A pause. "I've got some stuff to do. I'll see you guys later." With that, she spun on her heal and walked in the opposite direction.

The three remaining teens stood awkwardly for a moment. Hermione let out a long sigh. "I wish she would talk to us."

"She talks," Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, "Let her be. She'll talk when she's ready. I'm just glad she's hanging out with us at all. Remember those first couple of days? She barely spoke to anybody."

Ron smirked. "Right. I'm sure that's the _only_ reason you're happy she's hanging out with us. Shear nobility."

Harry blushed. "It's not like that."

"Oh, yeah? What's it like?" Ron asked, feigning innocence.

"We're friends."

"Friends? So you don't get nervous every time she's around? And that time you tripped when she was wearing that one sweater, that was just a coincidence, right?"

"Right," Harry said tightly.

"What about the time you spilled that potion all over Hermione when Buffy said she thought your glasses were, and I quote, "cute"?"

"I didn't—"

Hermione glared at him. "Oh, you so did. I have the stain to prove it."

"It slipped."

Ron laughed. "Right. Okay. It slipped."

"Leave him alone, Ron," Hermione said, smiling. "It's perfectly alright if he fancies Buffy."

Harry glared at them both. "I do not fancy Buffy!"

"Harry and Buffy, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S—"

"Could you _be_ more immature?" Harry said loudly, looking around wildly to make sure nobody was in hearing range. Whispering now, he said, "Alright look, hypothetically speaking, even if I did fancy Buffy, it wouldn't matter. I'm one of about a bazillion guys at this school who do and half the time we talk, she's a million miles away."

Hermione looked at him sympathetically. "She's just…"

"Just what?" Ron asked, genuinely curious.

"Scared. She's just scared."

Harry ran a hand through his unruly dark hair. "Yeah, but of what?"

None of them had an answer.

Buffy climbed to the top of the astronomy tower and watched the sun set over the Hogwarts' grounds. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the trios company, but sometimes, okay a lot of times, she still craved being alone. Carrying on a conversation took a lot more effort then she was willing to admit and when things got heavy, it was much easier to walk away then deal with it. Really, it was kind of interesting. Before everything with Voldemort she had used her friends as a means to deal with all the horror she was forced to encounter every night. Now, she did the exact opposite. She pulled away. Sure, it was lonelier, but in the long run, it was safer for everybody and she could deal with being alone. She had to.

There was a creaking on the stairs behind her and Buffy spun around, falling automatically into a defensive stance. Platinum blond hair popped its way through the small door in the floor of the tower, followed by an annoyingly amused grin. She relaxed.

"Go away, Draco."

"I like it here," he said, pulling himself out of the hole and perching himself on the railing of the tower.

Buffy closed her eyes and tried to count to ten in her mind. When that didn't work, she resisted the urge to push him off the tower. "I come here to be alone. As in, by myself and without you."

"I know."

"So you're still standing next to me because…?"

"I want to, plus," he fixed her with a serious stare and then suddenly sang badly, "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you _need_."

Buffy stared at him in absolute shock, her mouth hanging open. The behavior was totally uncharacteristic of the Slytherin prince. And then, even as she tried to school her expression, she broke into a fit of laughter. "Did _you_ just sing the Rolling Stones?"

He pretended to think about it. "British band, right? Started circa 1969 or so?"

She crossed her arms and quirked one perfectly plucked brow at him. "I'm impressed. Pure blood boy comes through with the knowledge. So where'd sheltered Draco Malfoy hear an evil, _disgusting_ muggle band?"

"Around."

"Yeah, right, because The Rolling Stones are being played on all the popular wizard stations. Fess up blondie, you totally researched muggle pop culture." She smirked when Draco failed to respond. "Now _why_ would you go to all that trouble?"

Draco turned away from her and pretended to examine the scenery, resting his elbows on the railing of the tower. "Believe what you want. I just stumbled upon the song."

Buffy rolled her eyes and leaned next to him on the railing. "Right. Okay."

"You've been learning to," he said. "Pure blood? Muggle? I suppose you even know what a mudblood is now."

"You suppose right. Kinda hard not to around here. It's all anybody talks about. I feel like I'm in Nazi Germany with giant, scary skulls instead of giant, scary swastikas." She adopted a deeper and somewhat comical voice. "I can't hang out with him because his mom is not a wizard. I can't hang out with her because her dad is a death eater." She glanced at Draco. "Don't you guys get tired of fighting about the same thing?"

He looked at her for a long time before answering. "Yes."

"So why do you do it?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Because I'm a mudblood?" she asked angrily.

"No, because you don't care what people think of you," he snapped.

She looked away from him. "If you mean I'm not trying to impress anybody, then you're right."

"Of course. You're too busy shutting everybody out."

"Don't try to psych 101 me. You don't know anything about me."

He shrugged. "I know enough."

They were abnormally silent for a moment. Buffy's knuckles were white as she gripped the railing, but other then that, she appeared perfectly calm.

"My father would kill me for talking to you."

Forcing herself to release the railing, Buffy moved a strand of hair behind her ear. "So why are you?" she asked, voice tight.

He watched her for a long moment. "I have no idea."

Buffy looked up at him. "Lying doesn't become you, Draco."

She turned and began the decent down the tower.

XXXXXXX

"Where'd you go last night?" Hermione asked, munching on a piece of toast and watching as Buffy slid into the seat across from her. The girl's blonde hair was falling down her shoulders, looking slightly askew and her shirt was—

"You're not wearing a uniform!" She exclaimed loudly, causing several of the other people at the Gryffindor table to look their way curiously.

"Didn't feel like it."

"Yes, but…"

"Drop it, Hermione," Buffy said tiredly. After a moment, she reached across the table and scooped up some porridge, then spent the next five minutes staring at it.

"Are you going to eat that?" Hermione asked at last.

Buffy shook her head, not looking up from the bowl. "I don't think so."

"Oh," Hermione said, at a loss. "Okay."

"Yeah." Her eyes never left the table.

"Buffy, are you okay?"

"Sure."

Hermione tried to hide her frustration, but failed miserably when she sighed loudly. If Buffy noticed, she didn't look up. "You know," Hermione started, her eyes desperate as she looked at Buffy's expressionless face. "You can talk to me. I won't…I mean…I'm a good listener."

Buffy gave Hermione a sympathetic smile. "I know."

"So what's wrong?"

The blonde stared at her friend for several long seconds, seemingly debating whether or not to answer the question. "My mom died four months ago today."

Hermione tried to conceal her surprise and managed to say softly, "I'm so sorry."

Buffy nodded, looking away. "Me too." She played with her breakfast and blinked back tears.

"Buffy, I—

"Don't tell the guys. I don't want…just don't tell anybody."

"Right. Of course."

Buffy grabbed her books. "Look, I'm gonna head to class early. I'll see you later."

She walked out of the Great Hall quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when she was away from prying eyes. Finding an empty classroom, she leaned warily against the door and allowed herself a moment to compose herself. The tears had come unbidden. She hadn't even remembered the date until late last night as she was falling asleep and even then, she didn't think it would hit her this hard. Sliding down the door until she was sitting, Buffy allowed her head to fall against her curled up knees.

"I can't do this,' she mumbled brokenly.

It was then that she heard the distinct scrape of a chair. Buffy looked up wildly, her eyes meeting the very worried ones of Professor McGonnagle. Standing up quickly, Buffy wiped frantically at her eyes. "I didn't realize anybody was in here."

"That's quite all right, Miss Summers," the teacher said, her voice gentle.

The bell rang loudly, startling them both. "I should…" Buffy began awkwardly.

"You don't have to—

"It's Snape. I can't be late. He already wants to crucify me." She opened the door at breakneck speed and was quickly immersed in the busy hallway before McGonnagle could respond. _Stupid_, Buffy said silently to herself. God, why was she even going to class? Snape was just going to yell at her and take off points for being out of uniform. Was she really this much of a glutton for punishment? She sighed. In the end, the alternative – sitting alone in her room and _thinking_ – was much worse. At least this way, she'd be distracted. Hopefully.

XXXXXXXX

"That is _not_ regulation."

_Mission accomplished._

"20 points from Gryffindor." Buffy glared at the Dracula wannabe in desperate need of shampoo, but refrained from saying anything. "Honestly, how hard is putting on a uniform? Americans. Always so lazy."

Hermione was looking at her worriedly and Ron and Harry seemed more confused than anything. Donning a uniform _was_ easy and despite Buffy's obvious distaste for them, she wouldn't risk getting in trouble for fashion.

Snape was still looking at her expectantly, clearly waiting for an explanation that did not appear to be forthcoming. Buffy sighed inwardly. "Sorry. I forgot," she said almost sarcastically.

"Ten more points from Gryffindor for stupidity." He moved back to the front of the classroom, apparently done with her. "Today we will be making sandeman potions. If done correctly, they will put a person to sleep with a simple drop anywhere on his skin. I've written the directions on the board. You have sixty minutes." There was an immediate flurry of movement as everybody scurried to gather the appropriate supplies. Buffy stayed in her chair, doodling absent-mindedly on a piece of parchment. Hermione sat down with a variety of different potions ready to mixed.

"Buffy," Hermione said. When the blonde failed to respond, she repeated herself loudly. "BUFFY!"

Buffy's head jerked up. "What?"

Hermione looked at her pityingly. "Maybe you shouldn't be here," she began gently. "I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't mind if you—"

"I'm fine." As if to prove this point, she immediately got up from her chair and began walking over to the front of the classroom.

"Feeling slow today, Summers?" Snape hissed, coming up behind her and looking down at her blonde head with distain. He walked away without waiting for an answer.

Ignoring the professor, Buffy began gathering the necessary supplies. Harry walked up beside her. "He's a bloody git,"

"Yup."

He hesitated. "Everything alright?"

"Peachy," she said shortly. He looked slightly crestfallen and Buffy sighed inwardly, feeling bad. "Sorry, that was mean. Today just isn't my day. It's not you."

Harry offered her a tentative smile. "I'm sorry your days been crappy."

"You and me both."

He scratched the back of his head and looked away for a moment. "I've got something that might cheer you up," he began hesitantly.

Buffy quirked her head, doubtful. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Ever been flying?"

"I assume you're not taking about on a plane."

Harry smiled. "On brooms."

"Right. The Bewitched thing. Um, no, not so much."

"It's brilliant, the best feeling in the entire world. I can show you how after classes. I mean, if you're not too busy, or, well, afraid of heights," he offered.

Flying on brooms. Maybe that would be kind of fun. She nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay. I'll meet you after classes." Picking up her supplies, she walked back to where Hermione sat, missing both the beaming look on Harry's face and the angry one on Draco's. The platinum blonde was standing with his back turned in the front row, absently mixing potions, and apparently eavesdropping. Hermione, who had been watching the exchange, looked at her friend with curiosity.

"Is there something going on between you and Draco?"

Buffy made a face. "What gave you that idea?"

"Well, he's glaring at you, for one."

"And this leads you to believe we're making out in the broom closet during breaks?"

Hermione blushed. "Point taken."

After this, class went by uneventfully. Buffy's potion came out rather horrendously, but she was far from caring. Usually she was actually quite good at the subject. It reminded her of her science classes back home only the things they mixed tended to be a lot smellier and, well, according to Snape, deadly. Unsurprisingly though, her mind had been elsewhere and attention to detail was a must in this class. She had history of magic next, which meant she could catch up on some of the sleep she had lost last night. Gathering her books, she trailed after Hermione, staring down at the ground and completely missing Draco who was standing directly in front of her.

"Ouch!" she cried angrily when she collided directly into him. Rubbing her head, she fixed him with a glare. "Do you always stand directly in front of people?"

"You should watch where you're going," he told her unapologetically.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Move. I have to get to class."

"Are you always this bossy?"

"Was there something you wanted?"

He smirked. "Don't answer a question with a question. It's annoying," he said, repeating her earlier words to him.

"I swear to god, if you don't—"

"Calm down. You're always so tense."

She side stepped him and began moving down the hallway towards her next class. He spun and quickly moved to walk beside her. "Only around annoying, British blondes with serious ego problems."

"You know, there are ways to relieve tension…"

She stopped abruptly. "You better not be implying what I think you're implying."

Draco held his hands up in mock defense. "I would _never_ be so crude."

"Right. You're a saint among men."

He shrugged. "Well, I'm no Harry Potter, but we can't all be scar faced and noble."

"What's your problem with Harry?"

"Who said I have a problem?"

Buffy looked at him incredulously. "Um, everybody ever?"

"Well, maybe I don't like him as much as _you_ do, but then again, he never offered to give me a private flying lesson," Draco said dramatically.

"Jealous?"

"I don't get jealous."

"Oh c'mon Drake. I'm sure if you asked _real_ nice, he'd be more then willing to—"

His eyes narrowed. "Watch when you're going with that, Summers."

She sighed dreamily. "I can see it now. The two of you flying on the same broom. Your hands wrapped around his waste while he—"

"If you know what's good for you, you'll shut it."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "What's _good_ for me? What, are you going to glare at me if I don't stop talking? Honestly, boys are so sensitive about their sexuality." The bell rang. "Great!" Buffy said, throwing her hands up in annoyance. "Now I'm late!"

She moved to run down the hall but Draco reached out his hand and grabbed tightly onto her arm. Pulling her close, he gripped her tightly and said in a very low voice, "_Never_ question my sexuality."

Buffy looked up into blue, grey eyes and tried to ignore his hands on her body. "Let go of me," she finally said, hating the way her voice sounded slightly unsure and hesitant. "I have class." He dropped his hands and for a moment they just stood staring at each other. Without preamble, Buffy turned and began walking hurriedly down the hallway.

Smiling, Draco called after her, "Don't let Potter's ego complex rub off on you!" In response, she flicked him off. His smile broadened. There was just something about that girl that pushed all of his buttons. She could make him go from angry to amused in about two seconds flat. Never before had he had any desire to befriend a Gryffindor, least of all an American mudblood, but Buffy was different. She was special.

_You are so whipped._

He didn't have the energy to argue with himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Many miles away in Rabat, Morocco, a doorbell rang. Rupert Giles stood up from where he was reading the latest in a series of rather dodgy prophesy books and moved to answer it.

"I'll get it!" he hollered to no one in particular. Grabbing a cup of English breakfast on his way, he looked through the peephole and was thrown by the presence of the person on the other side. Swinging the door open, he smiled hesitantly at the older man before him.

"Quentin. What a surprise," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Hello Rupert," the man said. "May I come in?"

Giles held open the door.

Shit! Giles! He's evil! CLOSE THE DOOR! Or not…That's it for now. Hope you enjoyed it. Review or I'll never update again! Ha!


End file.
